


Say It First

by talesofsuspense



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Cuddling, Emotionally Repressed Steve, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 23:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/pseuds/talesofsuspense
Summary: Steve doesn’t know how to say what he wants, but Tony knows what he means anyway.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 135
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	Say It First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SmileAndASong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileAndASong/gifts).

> For the prompt: “Friends with Benefits Steve and Tony try cuddling for the first time after sex.”
> 
> SmileAndASong: You had so many great prompts and it was so hard for me to choose! Ultimately I went with this one because 1) I wanted to make sure it wasn’t one I’d get lost in plot-land of and actually be able to finish, and 2) I adore Ults so much and I love when they get to have fluffy moments. Also I feel like I don't actually see a FWB dynamic as much as I do a total relationship (though that is where this is leading, imo) with Ults. I hope you like this and that it’s somewhat close to what you imagined for this prompt. I went a little heavy on the “Steve has a lot of inner thoughts and is still slightly repressed about stuff and Tony is very caring” and a little light on the Actual On-page Cuddling, sorry about that! I tend to get easily lost in my Steve emotions.
> 
> I have no idea how to rate things. This probably could/should be a T-rated fic, but I wrote the word “cock” and vaguely allude to the sex they had, so I automatically want to bump it up. 
> 
> Title from “Say It First” by Sam Smith.

Steve blinks blearily up at the ceiling, feeling the light breeze that Tony leaves in his wake as he rolls out of bed and into the bathroom to wash up after their latest tumble in the sheets. He was a real stickler for hygiene like that. It was something Steve had actually come to appreciate quite a bit about the man. It meant that his blankets and pillows always smelled like some calming earthy or fruity scent that Steve never would’ve thought of as pleasant on his own. It’s especially pleasant when he finds himself lying on sheets with a thread count higher than he could imagine on his own, drifting in and out of a state of exhausted bliss. 

He knows he should get up soon, but the idea of it makes him want to burrow further into the bed, curl up and tuck his arm under a pillow and wait for Tony’s warmth to be pressed up against him again. It never escapes him that the only times he ever feels truly comfortable are here with Tony, but he doesn’t like concentrating on it. He can’t keep these moments. They’re moments, and that’s all. That was what they’d decided on months ago when they’d gotten into this “friends with benefits” relationship, as Tony had called it. Steve was fine with casual, even if that might surprise people; it took him awhile to establish any real vulnerability with a partner. And he’s man enough to admit that he didn’t even want to be vulnerable with Tony at first. 

Now, he couldn’t imagine  _ not _ being vulnerable with Tony. It’s as if the man pulls it out of him every time they’re together. It’s in the way he touches him: soft and firm and grounding, in the exact way he always needed but couldn’t — or wouldn’t — have given name to. Even when he’s in the process of redefining Steve’s entire idea of pleasure with his hands or mouth or cock, his soft touches are what sticks inside Steve’s mind most and set his nerves on fire with a desperate need to be touched, held, and needed in return. 

Still, what he may want is not something he feels comfortable voicing. He wouldn’t even know how, nor would he have any way of anticipating Tony’s response beyond knowing he wouldn’t be cruel if he rejected him. He sighs, just beginning to pull himself into a sitting position, facing the wall, when he hears the water from the sink stop running and Tony’s slipper-covered shoes pad back to the bed. He can’t bring himself to look back and just sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, picking at the long threads of soft fabric on the rug under his feet.

“Hey darling, what’s got you all tense, huh?” Tony says from behind his back. Steve can feel the mattress dip as Tony works his way closer. He feels Tony place one hand in between his shoulder blade, his skin warm and soft enough to remind Steve of the immense care Tony puts into himself. Another small detail of him that only months ago Steve would have viewed as purely unnecessary, overly vain, and a waste of money. It feels good now though, as Tony trails his hand up to press lightly at the back of Steve’s neck, scratching his fingernails through the short cropped hair there. Steve tries to repress the pleased shiver at the feeling and fails, prompting Tony to shift even closer so Steve can feel the silk of his robe against his bare back. “You were so relaxed when I left you, gorgeous. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve starts, his voice gruffer than he means it to be. He’s not good at talking about this- about anything dealing with emotions. That’s never been a priority for him. When he’d gotten into this arrangement he’d thought Tony was the same. Layers of drama, loud jokes and flaunted wealth to push aside emotions. Of course, Steve knows now that he was wrong in assuming that. Tony wants emotions in his relationships, even the ones that are lacking certain aspects of intimacy that Steve has come to associate with what he sees as “appropriate” times to share your emotions with your partner. Or maybe he’s just like this with Steve. But that feels too much like hoping with nothing backing it up. Still, he can’t ever bring himself to build back up walls that only Tony has ever been able to carve away at. “Just- just thinking about how cold it must be outside by now.”

There, that is at least not a total lie. It’s a half-truth. It’s true that Steve is dreading leaving the warmth and comfort of Tony’s room, his bed, his presence for the frigid February air outside. He always hates that. It’s like the physical embodiment of what he’s feeling inside; that sudden drop from the near-euphoria he gets when Tony is clutching at his arms, thighs, or back to the loneliness that needles its way back into his bones and veins, chilling him from the inside out. And Tony is smart enough to know what he’s asking for without Steve actually having to ask. 

“You and the cold,” Tony says with no small amount of fondness in his voice. Steve used to get tense at that tone of voice. He always misread it as Tony humoring him, finding what he said amusing and going along with it rather than truly caring or understanding. Now, with Tony tugging him gently backwards by the shoulders, he thinks there’s probably no one in the world who knows him better. It scares him sometimes, but now when he lets himself fall back into bed next to Tony, he can't find the fear. He shivers again when his back hits the smooth sheets, the top sheet just barely staying draped over his hips and the top of thighs. “We can’t let all this gorgeous man go cold.”

“Shut up,” Steve says with a small grin, feeling a pleased flush creep over his neck and up across his cheeks. Tony is the only one who can make him blush, and Tony delights in it every time. It’s admittedly still partially because he’s a man receiving open affection from another man, but more than that it’s knowing Tony means it genuinely no matter how cheesy it may sound. Steve is used to be being objectified to some extent by Captain America fans in general, but there have been very few people to actually like Steve Rogers. 

Tony moves so he’s lying on his side next to him, one arm draped over the top of Steve’s head on the pillow, the other arm draped dramatically over his chest, his index finger drawing shapeless rhythms over his pectoral muscles. It’s calming and Steve melts into the bed a little more with each minute that passes. It feels dangerously domestic, but if Tony is encouraging it, surely it can’t be as dangerous as Steve has worried. 

“Are you going to let me wash you up, or are you going to insist on getting my sheets as dirty as possible? Not that I mind  _ your  _ dirty, darling, but I must admit I was hoping to get you smelling like some nice bergamot spice,” Tony’s voice sounds syrupy sweet in Steve’s ear with how fair Steve has floated under the relaxing presence Tony provides. At first Steve only hums one response, mind still focused on the soothing feeling of Tony’s fingers. Once he processes what Tony actually said though, he can’t help but tense slightly, his anxiety rearing its head once again.

“Oh, I’m sorry Tony,” Steve says, trying to sit up. Tony remains firmly in the same position though, not allowing him more than a few inches unless he forcibly moves himself and Tony, so he lays back down. He tilts his head up to meet Tony’s eyes. “I can clean myself up.”

“Shh, I know you can dear, but I  _ want  _ to,” Tony smiles at him. Steve watches him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of insincerity and failing to find any, and then nods his consent. Tony grins and peels himself off of Steve to pad away to his bathroom once more.

Steve steels himself for a few minutes of trying to stay forcibly relaxed, but when Tony returns with the softest washcloth and towel he's ever felt, it turns out to be much easier than he’d expected to just relax again. It’s unbearably intimate to let Tony clean him up, and for one humiliating moment he feels a prickling heat at the back of his eyes. He blinks it back and lets Tony finish rubbing what must be bergamot spice scented lotion over his arms and chest, paying special attention to his elbows and knuckles. He never uses lotion on himself — much to Tony's displeasure — but it feels soothing and admittedly smells nice, a balanced combination of spice and floral. 

It feels like something is shifting. They’ve never done this before. And Steve isn’t exactly sure what to make of it, but he knows he wants it, maybe forever. He wants to feel this level of care, to constantly be touched in an affectionate way, and he wants to reciprocate. He wants all of that with Tony, specifically. 

When Tony is finished he tosses the washcloth, towel, and top sheet in his hamper, turning the lights out and bringing a fresh sheet with him, draping it over the both of them as he crawls back into bed behind Steve, pushing at Steve’s shoulder until he’s rolled onto his side. He massages momentarily at Steve’s upper back as much as he can with the limited space between them before pressing himself firmly against Steve’s back, wrapping his arm over Steve’s waist. Steve’s slightly broader than him, but it still feels like a perfect fit. 

“Tony,” Steve starts after they’ve been lying together for a few minutes, his voice almost a whisper. He feels nervous giving voice to his questions about this, but he needs to know. “What are we doing?”

“Right now,” Tony says, his voice steady and clear despite the tendrils of sleep creeping in. “We are cuddling. Because I think you wanted to stay. And if I’m right then you should stay. I want you to.” Steve feels him lean up and press a quick kiss against the side of his neck. “And in the morning we can talk, or not. We can cross that bridge when we get to it”

“Okay,” Steve says, turning his face further into his pillow and inhaling. He can’t help but smile slightly, trying to bury it in the fabric. “Okay. Goodnight, Tony.”


End file.
